


A gentleman's discourse

by Clockwork



Series: Training the Pet [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Sexual Assault, dub con, force, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-21
Updated: 2011-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork





	A gentleman's discourse

Jim took his time. He got in and hung up his jacket and took a moment to make sure it was precise on the hanger so that the shoulders wouldn't have bumps. The tea was brewed by his own hand, timing the steep time precisely while piling the sugar cubes in a neat stack before getting down a tin of biscuits. Adding it to the tray, he made his way down to his guest's room, whistling as he went.

Tapping at the bottom of the door with the toe of his shoe, he finagled getting the door open with one hand, not spilling so much as a drop of tea as he entered, closing the door with a kick of his foot.

Holmes lay on the bed, flat on his back and staring - eyes seemingly unseeing - at the ceiling. His cheeks were sunken in, dark slices of shadows beneath the stark lines of bone and his eyes like pits of darkness against the waxen, shallowness of his skin. The phone was still held in his spidery fingers, one long digit tapping against the screen.

"Do set it down and step back." His words were as they always were, controlling and controlled, yet that forcefulness that often backed Holmes' words was gone, the shake of his hand revealing more than his words had. "Tea first and then we'll discuss the rest."

The rest. Only the slightest hitch in his voice. Tiny and yet not missed by Jim.

"But of course," he said, bright and cheerful as he set the tray on the bedside table before undoing the single shackle. "We're both civilized men here."

"That's still to be determined," Holmes snapped, tossing the phone to one side as he moved to sit up. Without hesitation he snatched up three of the sugar cubes and popped them in his mouth. Not waiting for them to dissolve, chewing them up so that the crystallized bits shredded his gums and dissolved in the spaces between his teeth. Slowing down to one or two at a time until his tongue stung, the churning of his stomach was audible and the plate held naught by shimmering bits that fell away from the cubes. His hand hovered over the plate, wanting to pick it up and lick away every last crumb. The internal war was visible on his face, written in every line and hollow as his hand slowly slid back to his lap.

Jim chuckled. "Go on then. I'll look away and leave you to it," he said, adjusting the straight back chair just so, staring at the wall as if he was giving Holmes his privacy.

For a moment neither of them moved, not a sound or action between them. Not until Sherlock cut his losses, dragging his fingers through the sugar rather than licking at the china. Jim couldn't just leave him to it though.

"Do be sure and eat the biscuits, Pet. You need to keep your strength up, and a man can't live on sugar and heroin alone."

Not looking over, not once, leaving the brilliant consulting detective to know that the conclusion of the night was a given, that there was no way for him to get around it.

And given how he took up one of the biscuits and began to nibble at it like a mouse, it would seem he knew as well.

Still turned away, Moriarty made not a sound as he allowed Sherlock the illusion of time to himself. Not to mention ensuring that every movement, every time his teeth bit through the cookie, it was a sound he could hear. The clink of china against china turned Jim in his seat, no longer making the pretense of ignoring Sherlock. Little remained on the plate but crumbs.

"Good boy," he said, barely refraining from clapping his hands together more than once. "You are looking a bit gaunt and you should watch that. Wouldn't do for you to go about seeking what you need while looking skeletal. A man does like a bit of cushioning, after all. Speaking of..."

He pointed to the spot at his feet, arching a brow.

Sherlock gave Jim a long suffering look before running his finger over the plate, licking the crumbs from his skin with a slow drag of his tongue. In the quite of the room the moistness made a rasping sound against the dryness of his skin. Leaning back on the bed, one leg crooked as he slumped against the wall and took his time look Moriarty over with pale eyes set above dark purplish smudges. The look was insolent, challenging despite the look of hunger still in his eyes. One that had nothing to do with the tin of biscuits and sugar cubes. In truth the look coupled with the pose was one of the most erotic things Jim had seen in a very long time. Almost enough to make him forget he had been ignored.

Almost.

His hand dipped to his inside pocket, watching Holmes closely. He could almost see the pulse in his throat speed up, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. The man's tongue ran over lips that still sparkled with sugar like glitter. Slowly Jim withdrew the syringe, holding it aloft with two fingers.

"So now we come to the part of our night where I tell you what you're going to do and you have two choices. You do what I ask of you, or you do without your dessert. What's your choice tonight, pet?"

Long fingers curved over the round of his knee, fingertips stroking over the fabric of the trousers the carer had put him in. Staring intently at the syringe, that stroking slowed until his fingers curled in against the fabric.

"I do not have nearly enough information to make a decision. If your gesture was as straight forward as it seems then you wish, once more, for me to orally gratify you so that I might have my dose. If that if the desire, then so be it and we can move on with this. Should you desire something more and hoped to get me to do so without forethought or disagreement then you still underestimate me. I am many things trapped in your little dungeon but I am not, nor will I ever be, stupid."

"So quick," Jim cooed, leaning forward slightly in his seat, amusement a bright light in his eyes, causing the curve of his smile to become more pronounced. "It was the reminder to keep your energy up, wasn't it? Is that how I gave myself away?"

Holmes nearly inclined his head though it was obviously a chore to raise the weight once more, his neck seeming even longer and more fragile in his weakened state. "So then, I am to assume you wish me to whore myself out, offering myself up so that you might give me that syringe, but yet without any real promise that the dose I require will be received? Is that how you believe we're going to play this game?"

"I'm not entirely certain you're in a place to bargain. Not only do you need what I have, and can not get it from anyone else, but you risk the chance that I become bored waiting for you and simply get what I need from your charming doctor. Sadly he might not be as needful as you so it truly would become a matter of taking what I want rather than negotiating."

The change was not only dramatic but instantaneous. Another time, one when Holmes was at his best, and he would have done well to hide his reaction. Another time he would have made a scathing comment, left it to words and not fisticuffs. Launching himself at Jim, lips curled back into a sneer as long fingers curled, claw-like and stiff, aiming for the pale throat of his tormentor.

Despite his light weight, the leverage of his height sent the chair toppling, both men sprawling to the floor. Landing with a hard thud and oof, Jim's hand smacked the concrete, fingers spasming and sending the syringe rolling across the floor as he twisted, trying to gain an advantage over his attacker. Had Holmes been at his peak, this might well have been a true battle. As it was Jim had been waiting for that point when his darling nemesis finally snapped, logging his legs around Sherlock's spindly ones and using his might to twist the man over, pressing down on the back of Holmes' neck and grinding his nose into the cement floor.

"Now now, Pet. Do play nice or you won't have a say in how this game continues outside of this room."

Panting, his voice rougher now, losing that taunting lilt as he leaned down, teeth capturing the upper curve of his ear and grinding, slow and hard until Holmes couldn't withhold a bark of pain, beginning to struggle once more. Lips curling into a mirthless smile, Jim shoved his knee hard into the back of his thigh.

"Last chance, Sherlock, and the rules have already changed. Consent. Agree to whatever I want to do and I'll give you your treat before I go. One word of argument and I'll go and find John," he said, voice softening on the name, twisting it. "Which will it be, Sherlock? Be true to the man you're becoming, or sell out the man you'll never have?"

"Your rules and word change at a whim. I can do anything you want and you'll still make John pay." Still his voice was steady, soft but even, though it came out a bit rumbled with the way he was pinned to the floor.

Shifting his leg to push his knee between thin thighs, pushing his legs apart to accommodate it as he leaned down, licking the curve of his ear with a soft rumble so much like a purr. "I have yet to lie to you, Sherlock. I've kept my word on everything I've offered you. Should I start now, it would ruin everything I've been working for. Yet that's a two way street. If I give my word to leave the doctor alone, then I will. If I promise to visit him if you refuse me, then that will happen as well. I am not using idle threats in here, Sherlock. You are the pet and I am your trainer. You will learn, or you will be punished. The question is, which do you prefer," he asked. "Resist me or agree to the next step of your training?"

Strong fingers stayed tangled in Holmes' hair, keeping his cheek pressed to the floor. Every breath the taller man took shushed loudly in the silence, bits of grit that were likely doing havoc to his cheek skittered across the floor.

"If I agree, what comes next?"

"When you agree," Jim corrected. "Then I will begin your full physical training. After you have woken from your treat then we will move onto the next level. If you're being good, I will begin giving you your treats on a regular basis, timed to the minute. You will receive smaller doses, several times a day. You will then, if you are behaving, be allowed out of this room and at my side. Always at my side. Should you misbehave, we will renegotiate and it will not go well for you, or anyone you hold dear."

"What will be required of me to continue to stay in your good graces?"

It was a civilized conversation marred by the way Jim held Sherlock to the floor, by the sexual service they were negotiating as if it were nothing more than a civil contract in business.

"You will do what you're told. Stay at my side. Jump when you're told to jump. I will not require you to show eagerness in your actions, but I will require obedience. There will only be the nurse and myself here. The doors locked and the windows barred. You will be less a prisoner and more of a pet." Again his tongue traced his ear, biting softly. "I don't believe I'm asking too much, nor do I believe you won't enjoy much of it, especially those doses you desire so much. So what will it be, pet. Shall we enter into our agreement or should I return you to the shackles? Remember. Yes or no, Sherlock. Those are the only answers I will accept."

Once more the silence returned, a deafening pounding around them, two hearts beating erratically against the steady whoosh of breathing.

"Yes."

"Pardon me, Sherlock? I don't believe I heard you."

"Yes," he repeated, barely more than a whisper. "I agree to your terms. Yes."

"Brilliant," Jim murmured, pushing down on the back of Sherlock's head as he rose. "On your feet and out of those clothes, pet, and we'll begin."


End file.
